


Two Hundred Holes (interspersed throughout the ocean)

by bbcsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, POV John Watson, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:16:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcsherlockian/pseuds/bbcsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're nothing but islands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Hundred Holes (interspersed throughout the ocean)

Put me on an island with you, and I'll survive on the air, the salt in the sea, your breath. Bury me in the ground with your fists alone and I'll let you, let you cover my face and fill my lungs and blind me until the only thing I can see are the stars. 

I'll always let you. 

Pound, pound on my chest and you'll hear no resonance because it's full of all these things I will say, I could have said. Maybe if I had nothing else left to say. Maybe then I would- would speak them. 

So put me on an island, put me on an island with you. Maybe we could eat the sky, swim through the sand. If I had all my life ahead of me with nothing but the blue of the ocean and the blue of you, I might speak. Be my island, my own, I'll be yours. I'd cling to you until neither of us had a drop of blood left, and then a bit more. 

There'd be a rock, we'd find a rock. And there would be a space inside it where you'd fit so perfectly that we'd know you were built for this purpose. We'd stay on this island until we became part of it. And if you didn't fit, then I'd let you go back to civilisation, and I'd let me go back to the sea, blending into the waves until I merged into mere white horses. Sometimes you might look at the water and think of my salted fingers trailing tracks around your bare feet before sifting back, returning to sea and impossible to define, to find. 

(Because that's all I am. A lucky collection of water droplets that just happened to brush by you one time. At this moment, I can say with conviction that you are my home, that my molecules belong with yours, no matter how insignificant they are. But soon I'll be back into the water and you'll have washed a dozen times.)

So think of me as you build your islands. Leave one for me. Join me, later. Remember to come back. 

I belong to the sea and you belong to the air, I can see that. You're faster and better and indefinably more brilliant. An island though, an island. We could both be as useless as sand, as dust. 

We could build a fire and burn our skin so it blisters and turns to charcoal which we could burn all over again. We could live in each other's lungs, feet, throats. We could dig two hundred holes for no reason. We could dig two hundred holes to see if we could find the sky. 

This is me: speaking. My chest is hollow and you can stop building your islands now. We have one. Stop- just stop and come home to me. 

You always run ahead. You always run ahead and, although you never leave me behind, you never stop to check I'm still there.


End file.
